Ruth did not listen to the description of the proceedings that followed. “Marjorie Wilkinson!” she muttered, and buried her face in the sofa pillow, and wept.
In Lily Andrews’s room, a similar scene was taking place. She had retired there soon after lunch with a magazine and her ever-present box of chocolates, and had left the door open and waited. Once or twice she had perched herself upon the window sill to watch developments in the garden, and at one of these times she had witnessed Frances Wright approach and claim Doris Sands. Then she had gone back to her chair and waited.
In about fifteen minutes she thought she was rewarded. Her heart beat fast as she heard footsteps approach her door and stop; then a knock sounded on the half-open door.
Trembling, she answered, “Come!”
It was Ethel Todd!
But Lily’s hopes were to fall as quickly as they had arisen. Ethel apologized for the interruption.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Lily; but can you tell me where to find Marjorie?”
“Yes, she must have gone over to the gym to help Miss Phillips make out her records.”
Ethel thanked her, and went out. Lily, like Ruth, wept; but there was no bitterness in her tears, only disappointment. “If I couldn’t make it myself,” she sobbed, “I’d rather have Marjorie get it than any other girl.”
Meanwhile the four freshmen were taken into the senior member’s room, where absolute darkness prevailed. They were commanded to sit upon the floor, and sat down on something very soft, which they afterwards discovered to be flour.